


when the daylight disappears, you'll find no shelter in this tangled web of fear

by boston_sized_city



Category: The AM Archives (Podcast), The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Owen Lives, Gen, Immortal Owen AU, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tier 5
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28784682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boston_sized_city/pseuds/boston_sized_city
Summary: Owen wakes up in Tier Five after Helen's attack at the Boston AM. He shouldn't have.
Relationships: Joan Bright & Owen Thompson | Agent Green, Owen Thompson | Agent Green & Ellie Wadsworth
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	when the daylight disappears, you'll find no shelter in this tangled web of fear

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, me, finally writing a tier five fic? It's more likely than you think.
> 
> Title from Dead Of Night by Ruelle.
> 
> CWs in end notes!

_ Faking your own death is supposed to get you out of situations like this,  _ is Owen’s only thought. His head is spinning, dull pain growing in the back of his skull. Did someone hit him? No-- No, he hit his head. He sits up, a cold rush going through him as he does. He blinks, trying to clear his eyes, but the view is still blurry. His glasses, he dropped his glasses when he fell. Not like he needs them. He knows where he is.

The AM. That’s where he is. They had told him that much when they shoved him along through the dark hall, he guessed the rest. Someone had found out about him, how the  _ hell  _ did someone find out? 

His chest  _ aches. Immortality does not come with the inability to feel pain, _ he thinks bitterly, pressing a firm hand to his chest. He winces at the pressure, and leans back, relieved to find a wall behind him, where he’d hit his head before. He tugs down the neck of the top they’d given him-- similar to the patients’ scrubs at the Boston AM-- and does his best to inspect his own chest. Even through his blurry vision, he makes out the faint red of the mark Helen left, but there isn’t blood anymore. He presses his hand to the bare injury, running a finger along the scar that’s already formed. It stings, and he bites down hard on his lip.

He feels awful. God, he feels awful. But it isn’t his fault he can’t die, and they should--  _ Joan,  _ of all people, she should understand. She should know why he couldn’t tell them. Why he had to run.

He lets his head fall back against the cool concrete wall. He couldn’t even fake his death right, of course he couldn’t. He remembers, faintly, what happened. It’s fuzzy when he tries to pick out the details from his memory. He made it out of Boston, he’d _just_ made it, he _should have made it._

There’s a sudden pang that goes through his head.  _ “Ah _ ,” Owen mutters sharply, sucking in a breath and blinking his bleary eyes up at what he thinks are bars of a cell. They seem to move in a wavelike pattern in front of him, disorientating him. He reaches blindly in front of him, until he feels what are probably his glasses. He gets them in his hand, and relaxes when he recognizes the shape. When he puts them in, it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust.

Now the bars in front of him are clear. The cell he’s in is small, a small bed with only a thin pillow and a sheet on it attached to the side wall. Through the heavy bars of his cell, he can see another one-- This one doesn’t have bars, only a thick metal door with a keypad and patient number on it. He knew he was in Tier Five, they  _ told him  _ he was in Tier Five. It only now hits him.

He feels the panic rising in his chest, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. He manages to get to his feet, using the wall as support. He hears footsteps, and forces himself forward towards them, because they must be coming for him, to let him out, because this has to be a mistake, they don’t know, they  _ can’t know-- _

The footsteps stop. He’s at the bars, his hands weakly grabbing onto them. With a sinking feeling of dread tugging at his chest, he recognizes the eyes he’s looking into. The eyes smile. “Agent Green. So glad you could join us.”

Owen feels something in him shatter. “How--” His head is throbbing now. “How did you…”

“You think I didn’t see you walk out of there alive?” Annabelle Wadsworth’s eyes narrow, but her smile stays. It’s as sharp as a knife.  _ Or a scalpel, maybe,  _ Owen thinks with the barest trace of humor. “I’ve never met anyone who could do what you did, Owen. And I would  _ really  _ like to know what exactly that was.” He presses his lips together in a tight line, feeling the sting of the cut he’d given himself as he does. “Oh, you don’t have to answer me now. We’ll have plenty of time for that, won’t we?”

His throat burns. “Please, don’t--”

Ellie’s eyes have no remorse in them. Her stare is cold. “It’s what we  _ do,  _ Owen. Figure out these abilities, what they can do.” Her smile doesn’t fade, but it changes, cruelty flickering into it. “What they  _ can’t  _ do.”

She leaves him a stunned, stammering mess, her heels clicking against the hard floor as she walks away.

Owen does not want to cry. But what he wants hasn’t mattered in years. He collapses against the metal bars of the cell, his head throbbing now, and breaks down, sobs racking his entire body. He wishes the pain would overwhelm him, wishes it would take him slowly into unconsciousness so he doesn’t have to sit here awake, Ellie’s voice echoing in his ear.

_ “What they can’t do.” _

He curls up into himself, wanting to throw up. It feels like someone is kicking his chest, screaming at him from right next to his ear. Everything  _ hurts.  _ He thinks, for a moment, that he’s dying. That his ability has failed him and he’s finally running out of time, out of breath. It’s wishful thinking, he knows it is. But he wants to let himself have it, even though he knows he can’t. 

He digs the heel of his palm into the scarred wound on his chest. The pain is  _ loud.  _ He does it again, closing his eyes and dropping his head against the bars. Blood rushes in his ears, and for a moment, everything stills, and he thinks he might have done it. Maybe the pain was all it took for his ability to stop helping him, for his body to give up.

And then the pain comes back in a flood, and he doubles over and throws up.

**Author's Note:**

> CWs:
> 
> \- injury  
> \- mention of attempted murder  
> \- self-inflicted injury/pain  
> \- brief suicidal thoughts/a scene that can be interpreted as an attempt, but to the character it's only an afterthought that it could have been one  
> \- character throws up


End file.
